At first, you are certain that you have the upper hand and are going to keep it. But the hesitation from realizing the caliginous nature of this interaction allows the stranger enough time to shove you off of him and then––oof. You stagger backward, winded by the powerful kick, and instinctively raise your arms to shield your head and throat, because there is no way he won't take advantage of your weakness and try to tear your throat out. 

But he doesn't. He just... absconds, leaving you clutching your chest and trying to catch your breath. You wipe your face with your forearm, which turns out to be a mistake because it just leaves an olive smear across your face. Papa Prongs is going to be out of his mind with worry if you don't clean up before you get home. 

...How are you going to get home? You are [i]not[/i] willing to try crawling through that hole again. 

Oh. And there are humans staring at you. Humans. You've never even seen a human before, save for a small dead one. They look scared, which is ridiculous because you are outnumbered and weakened and [i]terrified.[/i] You put a hand up, hesitantly, and say, "Hi?" to the onlooking mammals.